Out of my control

Backstory: For the past 10 days, I have enjoyed a rapidly progressing form of what I thought was hives. Originally, actually, I thought it was bug bites, and I cursed the mosquitos of Montreal. It quickly became clear this was something more when blotches started spreading over my back, shoulders, and chest. Perhaps I'm allergic to the hotel soap, I thought. When it kept getting worse days after I had returned home, I reconsidered. I tried to think of anything and everything that had changed about my soaping or eating habits and instituted a major reversion to 3 weeks ago. I packed away a brand new container of moisturizing body wash and threw out dozens of delicious sugar plums from my food coop. I even stopped wearing the new makeup I bought two weeks ago (although none of the blotches were on my face, I wasn't taking any chances). Basically, I made myself crazy trying to figure out what I was doing to cause my rapidly degenerating skin problem. As the situation progressed from worse to even worse, I finally made an appointment with my dermatologist.

In the meantime, Laurel came to town. Ever one to display my freak-show side, I immediately regaled her with a close-up of my stomach and shoulders. "Hmm, that's odd," she said.

A few minutes later: I'll be interested to see what your dermatologist says it is. I have a little theory.
Me: If you're right, is it dangerous?
Laurel: No.

Another few minutes later: So, what's your theory?
Laurel: [Blah blah blah medical term] It's basically a rash that starts on your trunk then spreads up your neck and eventually down your arms and legs. Usually it doesn't spread to the face.
Me: What causes it?
Laurel: They really don't know.
Me: How do you treat it?
Laurel: You don't. There's no treatment.
Laurel: And . . . it lasts about 6 to 8 weeks.

For some reason, I found this hilarious. In that way things are hilarious because they aren't funny at all and you can't believe you let yourself stress so much on a topic about which you could do so little. If she's right, I am going to let out a long string of crazed laughter as I go home to dig out all my discarded body washes while eating sugar plums until I can't stomache even one more.

History repeats itself, again

Growing up, my family used to do the family reunion scene every year. On odd years, it was Aspen Grove with my dad's side of the family. We're inculcating John and Evelyn to this Barrett tradition next week. On even years, we drove to Myrtle Beach with my mom's side. We usually caravanned. The first time we went, I was riding separately from my grandfather. He had promised to buy me some french fries, so he reached into his wallet to pull out a couple bucks for me. I am told* that I peered over his wallet and then promptly told him, "I want the one with the two and the zero on it." I was perhaps 3 or 4 at the time.

Evelyn has similar inclinations.



Just after we stopped the camera, she went on to say, "Daddy, I want a credit card please." OK, so we coached her a little, but still, I think we're in trouble.

When I was little, the same grandfather used to keep a neverending oatmeal cookie jar. I never opened the lid to find it empty, and therefore, I learned early to ask for "cookie" whenever we went to his house.

Evelyn has been a little trickier (as one must be with parents), but in pursuit of the same goal. Yesterday, she spent a lot of time talking about Cookie Monster. She kept telling me, "Cookie Monster."

Emma: Cookie Monster?
Evelyn: Yeah, okay, Cookie Monster.
Emma: What about Cookie Monster?
Evelyn: Cookies. Eat cookies.
Emma: Cookie Monster eats cookies. Yep, that's right.

This conversation played on a 3 minute loop several times during the day.

Separately, John has been teaching her more advanced versions of her name. She's known how to say "Evelyn" for some time; he's taught her both her first and her last name, with even her middle name occasionally thrown in. She's not perfect, but often if he asks her for her name, then asks her for her full name, she hits the major points of her first and last name.

Friday night, we were walking home from a friend's house. John said, "What's your name?"

Evelyn: Evelyn!
John: What's your full name?
Evelyn: Cookie Monster!

We both broke out laughing and then took her to McDonald's for an ice cream cone. I'm pretty sure ice cream and cookies are perfect substitute goods in most toddler economies, which is probably why she now refuses to list her full name as anything other than Cookie Monster.


*Have been told multiple, multiple times, in fact, which I think must mean that my parents believe this anecdote somehow illustrates something meaningful about my personality.

Celebrity

The past few weeks have been exciting ones here in the Big Apple. And I'm not just talking about the drama of walking outside to a sunny, cloudless sky and then finding myself drowning in street water 20 minutes later. (We stay at home moms of toddlers have to savor unpredictability and changes to our routine where we find them, sometimes.) No, over the last month or so, I have been privy to several celebrity sightings.

Don't be jealous, but while running behind a 60-pound stroller in 80 degree heat the other day, I saw, with my very own eyes . . . Peter Jacobson. Twice. (We were circling the park in opposite directions.)

Then, earlier this week, I "ran" into Mark Feuerstein rehearsing lines on the East River Esplanade.

At this point, you may be saying to yourself, Wow, these are lame celebrity sightings. I don't even know who these guys are. In fact, I did have to look up their names, and it took me a few minutes to place them as characters on television shows I happen to watch. But by a broad definition of the term, they probably qualify. All of which got me thinking, what is a celebrity anyway? People, usually attractive people, who are recognized, by name or appearance, to a large number of people whom they've never actually met in a given society or area? It's all relative, isn't it?

And that definition is really broad enough to include a wide variety of people, which brings me to my third and most exciting celebrity sighting.

Sighted, in Montreal last weekend. Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes, great teeth. You may not know him, but if you're LDS in NYC, you've probably at least heard of him. And I had him all to myself for 3 days (in celebration of our 5th anniversary). Lucky, no?